


Penny for Your Thoughts

by benicemurphy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Chronic Pain, First Dates, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Loner Keith (Voltron), M/M, Mind Reader Keith, Supernatural Elements, meet ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28179372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benicemurphy/pseuds/benicemurphy
Summary: Another year, another new school; and for Keith, it's always the same— until one voice rises above the din of the crowd, and everything Keith's ever known changes.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 63
Kudos: 186
Collections: #ficwip 2020 gift exchange





	Penny for Your Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SomeGoodSheith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeGoodSheith/gifts).



> Merry ficwip! I hope you enjoy! <3

_new kid—new kid? really?—wonder where he came from—looks like a punk—don’t need any more—do they get these people—doesn’t matter anyway—wonder what his type is?—dirty—is he poor?—wonder what he’s like—_

_—BEAUTIFUL—_

One voice cuts through all of the rest. 

Keith looks around to try to pinpoint who thought it, but there’s no way to tell. It’s not that nobody is looking at him; _everybody_ is looking at him, but most people are looking with disdain or open curiosity. Nobody looks excited or interested or like there’s anything even remotely _beautiful_ about him.

Figures. They were probably thinking about someone else.

This is by far the worst part about transferring to a new school. All of the voices are completely muddled, and Keith has no way to figure out which voices belong to whom until he actually starts talking to people. Which sucks. Because they all think horrible things about him. Always.

Whoever had the thought is apparently gone now, or at least not thinking so loudly anymore. Instead, the steady murmur of curiosity and judgement follows him as he makes his way to his first class.

He takes a deep breath when he finds the room he’s looking for. It’s going to be a _long_ day— it always is. It’s loud, chaotic, and unfamiliar, and that’s just what’s going on inside his head. The stress of meeting new people and trying to get by without making too big of a splash is enough on its own without hearing the uninhibited thoughts of his new peers, but alas, this is his curse. The bell rings as he takes the first empty seat he can find.

“Alright everyone, calm down,” the teacher says. “As you may have noticed, we have a new student today.” She turns to Keith. “Would you like to stand and introduce yourself?”

No, he really would not. But Keith knows it’s not so much a question as an instruction, so he stands.

“I’m Keith,” he says. “Just moved here from Wyoming. Military brat.”

_figures—probably won’t make it to the end of—has a girlfriend back home?—more fucking military—_

He tries to shut the voices out and turns back to the teacher.

“Welcome, Keith. You may have a seat.”

After that, she launches directly into the lesson, thankfully something he’s already learned, so the thoughts mostly quiet aside from the occasional wandering daydream, and his mind gets a slight reprieve that curbs his building headache.

The whole day passes in a repetitive blur, and by the time the final bell rings, Keith has a splitting headache that follows him all the way home.

“Hey, kid,” his dad greets. “How was your day?”

“Got a headache,” Keith grumbles. He goes straight to his new room. Most of his stuff is still in boxes, but his bed is made, so he collapses onto it and closes his eyes. He takes a few minutes to just breathe and enjoy the quiet of his room. His parents are downstairs, far enough away that he can’t hear them right now, and it’s blissfully peaceful in his mind. His headache starts to fade, and he’s relaxed enough that he’s almost asleep when a knock on his door startles him back awake.

His dad doesn’t wait for the okay to open the door. “Hey, how ya doin’?”

“Better,” Keith answers. “Tired.”

“I know all this moving around is hard on you,” his dad says. “I appreciate you sticking with us and not making us feel bad about it. If we had any choice, we wouldn’t do this.”

“Mom could quit,” Keith says before he can stop himself. His dad sighs.

“You know she can’t.”

 _Can’t_ is a relative term, in Keith’s opinion, but they’ve had this conversation countless times. His parents have made it clear to him that she has no choice but to stay at her job, no matter how many times they force her to move for vague reasons that Keith never gets to hear.

Well, he supposes, starting at a new school every year is better than her leaving him and his dad behind. Probably.

At least this is his last year of high school. Then he can go to college and, if nothing else, have a stable home for at least four years. It doesn’t even really matter where.

He doesn’t bother to respond. There’s no point. Instead, he asks, “What’s for dinner?”

“Hot sausage!” his dad answers animatedly. “And mustard greens, and rebaked potatoes.”

“Nice.”

“They’re real hot. Gonna make your tongue numb.”

Keith smiles for the first time all day. “They better.”

 _You got such a nice smile,_ he hears his dad think. _Wish I saw it more_.

Keith sits up and stretches his back, popping his joints as he twists every which way. It feels like a release of all the tension he’s built up throughout the day. He knows it’s bad for him (or at least that people claim it is), but it feels good. Even a little bit of stress relief is better than none. He lets his dad pull him up and lead him downstairs.

“How was your first day?”

“Same as always,” Keith sighs. “Loud. Grating. Stressful.” He doesn’t say _Awful, as always_. He doesn’t say _Everyone hates me already, as always_.

“It’ll get better,” his dad promises. “Give it a little time. It will.”

And it does always get better after some time, Keith will admit. But he doesn’t make friends, because people are absolutely awful inside their own minds. It’s only once the thoughts start to quiet, once Keith starts learning how to filter people out, how to recognize people’s voices and know who to avoid altogether, once he’s gotten his footing in his new environment and can concentrate well enough to turn the roaring shouts into a dull murmur.

It always gets better, but it never gets _good_.

But it makes his dad feel better to think that Keith isn’t totally miserable, so he lets him have it.

“Tomorrow is another day,” Keith says, because it sounds like an agreement even though it isn’t.

His dad smiles and pats him on the back. “That it is.”

____________________

_what’s with the hair—pretty eyes, though—wonder what they’re serving for lunch—fucking homework again—talked to him yet?—THERE HE IS—hope there’s not a quiz—_

Keith whips his head up from its position studying the floor in front of him, searching hopelessly for the person with the very loud thoughts. That’s twice now that he’s heard the same voice above all the rest, and twice that he’s had no way of figuring out who it is.

Then again, he reminds himself, just because he can hear them doesn’t mean they’re thinking about him.

It bothers him, though, not knowing. He’s moved a thousand times and never heard a voice so distinct.

The irritation follows him to gym class — the bane of his existence — along with the litany of voices in his head that never leave him alone. It doesn’t really matter what they’re thinking about when they’re all thinking at the same time. He does his best to shut his mind down while he changes into his gym clothes. The voices are still there and still loud, but he doesn’t have any desire to know what the other guys are thinking about him, or _if_ they’re thinking about him, so he does the mental equivalent of sticking his fingers in his ears and humming. It’s not super helpful.

They’re playing volleyball today, apparently. Why team sports have to be a thing in gym class, he’ll never know — can’t they just run around the track or something? — but they are, and now he gets to attempt to play on a team with a bunch of people he doesn’t know and try not to fuck it up.

Volleyball, at least, is one of the sports Keith is good at. He’s fast enough to hang back and get the shots that make it near the end line. He makes a couple of good saves and even high-fives a couple of girls on his team that seem to have warmed up to him now that he’s proven himself useful.

One guy is watching him from the other side of the net, but not in a threatening way. He looks curious, more than anything, which is annoying but at least doesn’t make Keith feel like an asshole.

When the gym coach blows his whistle and calls for a water break, the guy walks over and sticks out a bony hand for Keith to shake. Keith eyes it warily before making the decision to take it, since he’s positive he could kick this guy’s skinny ass if he tries to pull something.

“Hey, I’m Matt,” the guy says. “You’re pretty good.”

Keith tries to listen for his voice, hoping that now that he’s heard Matt speak he might be able to single it out, but all he can hear over the din of the other voices are a few choppy words: _come from—seen him yet—ask him_. Keith shrugs. “Just fast. Name’s Keith.”

Matt grins and takes his hand back, shoving it into the pocket of his gym shorts. “So you’re new, huh? Where are you from?”

Keith hates this question. He never knows what people are asking, and he never knows how to answer. “Recently, Wyoming.”

Matt whistles. “Well, _that_ had to have been boring.”

The comment takes Keith by surprise, and he’s not quite quick enough to suppress a smile. “Luckily I enjoy being outside,” he answers. Matt grins, and Keith hears one thought like a bullet into his brain: _Oh he’s gonna like that_.

It’s shocking to hear. Who? Is Matt talking about him? What’s he going to like?

“Is there a lot of cool stuff to do outdoors here?” he asks, digging for an explanation.

Matt shrugs. “Dunno, I’m really not the outdoorsy type, if you can believe it.” He lifts one scrawny arm to show off his apparent lack of muscle. “I’m more of a computers type of guy. But my best friend likes stuff like that. You should ask him.”

“Um. Thanks,” Keith says. The answer doesn’t clarify anything.

The whistle blows again, and Matt returns to his place on his side of the net.

Most of the class actually goes surprisingly well. Keith doesn’t like team sports, but he does like exercise, and as long as he puts in the effort, his teammates seem happy enough to have him. It’s not until he gets distracted by the loud screech of a sneaker behind him that things go downhill. He turns at the sound and sees an unfamiliar face staring at him with open shock. In the next second, the ball smacks him hard, right in the back of the head.

He’s had plenty of headaches before — hell, headaches are his default setting, most of the time — but this one splits through him so fast it brings him to his knees. All at once, the voices around him explode in his mind, making it a thousand times worse.

 _oh fuck i’m gonna get in so much trouble—is he okay?!—looked like it hurt—OH GOD OH GOD—hey, can you hear me?_ (oh, that’s Matt)

Keith tries to open his eyes, but the slightest sliver of light against his retina has him squeezing them shut again as it causes his headache to pulse. He can now distinguish that Matt is speaking out loud to him, right by his ear.

“Hey, Keith. Come on, buddy. Let’s get you up.”

He lets himself be pulled up by the arm, not because he’s particularly interested in anyone’s help, but because the only thing he can focus on is how badly his fucking head hurts.

“Shiro? Little help?”

_wasn’t that big a deal—show off—hope he’s okay!—bad start, yikes—MY FAULT OH GOD WHAT IF I BROKE HIM—gonna hear about this for literal weeks—GONNA HATE ME—hope he doesn’t hate him—_

“Take him to the nurse,” he hears someone say— the gym teacher, probably. He realizes belatedly that they’ve taken him over the sit on the bleachers, and the cold metal is actually helping a little already. His head still hurts like hell, but at least now he can sort of focus on what’s going on, and not just on the pain.

“I’m so sorry,” the new mystery guy says. “I’m _so_ sorry.”

Keith doesn’t know what the guy is apologizing for, and says as much. “Did you hit me with the ball?”

He forces himself to open one eye to look up at the guy — and up, and up, and _up_ , Christ, this kid is only in high school? — who is not looking at him again, totally red in the face and seemingly dumbfounded.

“Well, no, but—”

“Then stop apologizing.”

The guy doesn’t say anything else, but the opening prompts Matt to ask, “What are you doing here, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be in physics?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Your dad asked me to come get you.” He waves a little pink slip of paper at Matt. “Didn’t say what for. Just told me to come get you and come right back.”

“Do I need to bring my stuff?”

“Dunno.”

Matt claps his hands, sending another jolt of pain into Keith’s skull. “Well, better safe than sorry! I’ll go get my stuff.”

He jogs off, and Keith holds his head in his hands while he listens to Matt’s friend explain the situation to the gym teacher.

“Alright, fine. But take our new student to the nurse while you’re at it. If Holt asks, have him call me.”

Matt comes back quickly with his own stuff and Keith’s. “Hope you don’t mind, I grabbed your stuff,” he says. “I figured you’re probably not coming back here today.”

Normally, Keith would be wary and pissed off that someone else handled his stuff, but Matt seems nice enough, and Keith doesn’t have the energy or headspace to be upset about anything right now. He’ll check his stuff later.

“Thanks,” he says, because his father taught him to be polite, but when he reaches for his stuff, the motion makes his headache throb, and he drops his arm just to bring it back up to hold his head again.

“I’ll get it,” Matt’s friend murmurs.

Keith follows them both out of the gym. After a few steps, Matt breaks off down an adjoining hallway.

“Where are you going?” his friend asks.

Matt raises an eyebrow at him. “To my dad’s room? You know, the whole reason you came in and concussed poor Keith?”

The friend — poor guy — turns redder than anyone Keith has ever seen. It’s almost endearing enough for Keith to appreciate even with the splitting headache.

“I didn’t— It was an accident! He’s not—!”

“Shiro, relax,” Matt says. “I’m sure Keith doesn’t blame you for the brain damage he undoubtedly sustained. Right, Keith?”

Keith almost smiles at Matt’s torture of this poor guy— Shiro. Maybe it’s because he’s out of the gym and away from all of the noise, but his headache is starting to fade into more of a dull throbbing rather than a persistent pulsing, and he thinks Matt and Shiro might both be okay guys, after all.

“Right,” he agrees. “I promise I won’t hold it against you when I become a vegetable.”

“You’ll just have to be his nurse!” Matt calls behind himself, already down the hall.

Like a crash of thunder, Keith hears the voice again, loud and panicked, and for once the only voice around: _Oh god, why would he say that?! Now I can’t stop thinking about it._

He realizes, suddenly and shockingly, who the voice belongs to. In the silence, Shiro’s thoughts babble on, cutting themselves off and talking over each other, but it’s much less of a burden when Keith only has to hear one voice doing it, and not thirty at a time.

_should say something to him—but what would i even talk about?—god, i hope he didn’t notice me staring—so rude—hope he’s okay—brain damage?!—oh god what if it really is a concussion—gonna transfer—two days and i already ran him off—figures—so cute though—definitely hates me—_

“Shiro, right?” Keith asks, if for no other reason than to slow the embarrassing thoughts live-streaming into his brain. “I’m Keith.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard.” _HE KNOWS MY NAME—_ “Welcome, by the way. I, uh, well, I guess maybe I didn’t give you the _best_ welcome just now, but…” he trails off, lifting his hand to nervously run his hand across the short hairs of his undercut. “Again, I’m _really_ sorry.”

“Shiro,” Keith says. “Seriously, it’s fine. You just surprised me. I already had a headache anyway; getting hit in the head just made it worse.”

Shiro’s eyes — oh, they’re a really pretty shade of grey — soften into a look of concern, which Keith suspects might be genuine. “You were playing volleyball with a headache?”

Keith shrugs. “I pretty much always have a headache. It would be kinda hard to get anything done if I stopped every time my head hurts.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” Shiro says, and he sounds like he means it. “I guess I kind of get it, in some ways.” Keith offers him a questioning look. “Oh, I have chronic pain.” He holds up his right hand, showing off some kind of bracelet. “It stimulates my muscles, since they tend to cramp up a lot.”

“That sucks,” Keith says in his own version of sympathy.

“Yeah.” Shiro shrugs. “But it’s okay. I guess I don’t really mind, all things considered. It could be worse.”

Keith hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t have anything else to say about that.

“So, what do you think of the school?”

Keith accepts the change of subject easily. “It’s fine, I guess. It’s a school. Looks like most other schools, maybe a little nicer than some of the others I’ve been in.”

Shiro beams. “I love this school. Don’t let the other kids intimidate you. You’re shiny and new, and we don’t get a lot of new kids here. Most military kids go to the school on base.”

“You _love_ school?” Keith snorts. “Nerd.”

Shiro’s cheeks flush a pleasant shade of pink, but he’s smiling. “Definitely. And president of the DDR club.”

“DDR?”

“Dance Dance Revolution.”

“Oh my god, _nerd_.”

Shiro lightly nudges him with his elbow but withdraws it quickly, as if second-guessing the action. Keith appreciates the concern; he’s not a touchy-feely guy by nature, and clearly Shiro is, so it’s nice that he can apparently recognize that and pull back.

He’s feeling charitable, so he does his best to offer Shiro a smile. His head still hurts, and he’ll be glad for the break from people until it fades out, but walking with Shiro has been surprisingly pleasant.

A feeling of warmth comes over him, and it takes him a second to realize what it is: happiness. That’s weird, he thinks, because it’s not like he really _has_ anything to be particularly happy about, but the longer it sits in his mind, the lighter he feels, until it’s like he’s floating on a cloud.

The feeling ebbs slightly when they come to a stop. “We’re here,” Shiro says. He’s smiling at Keith again, and Keith gets another string of thoughts.

_gorgeous eyes—ask for his number?—too soon—but he’s probably not—okay, next time—_

It’s unfamiliar, but unbearably sweet to hear someone think so well of him. To hear someone be so kind to _anyone_ inside their own mind is a rarity (Keith has heard _a lot_ of rumors get started), but usually the only people that have nice things to think are people in love. And a lot of times, not even then.

Shiro hands over his bag and then hesitates before leaving. Keith watches while Shiro decides whether to stay or go, and when Shiro reaches for the handle with a shy, “Well, maybe I should explain to the nurse what happened,” Keith feels _himself_ blush.

That’s a shock all on its own. Keith has _never_ blushed over a boy before. He’s had plenty of interactions with all kinds of people, but the double-whammy of being an army brat and an unwilling mind reader has made it very hard to make meaningful connections with people in the past.

But Shiro… Shiro is so _kind_. He’s sweet, and cute, and _such_ a dork, and if he keeps thinking the way he does, Keith might have to acknowledge that he’s very much charmed by him.

Keith gets introduced to the nurse, and Shiro explains what happened, and the nurse offers him a bed to nap off his headache, since she’s not allowed to give out pills without parental consent. As Shiro turns to go, thoughts still in the constant back-and-forth from before, Keith stops him.

“Wait—”

Shiro turns, eyes wide and questioning.

“I don’t really know anyone…” Keith says.

Shiro’s smile is so warm. Keith feels his ears heat up in response. What kind of high school kid is this nice?

“What lunch do you have?”

“Fourth.”

Shiro’s face lights up. “Me too! And Matt. You’re welcome to sit with us any time you like.”

_oh god i hope that wasn’t too forward—_

“That would be great. Thanks, Shiro.”

Shiro shoots him one last grin, and when he turns to go, Keith sees how red the tips of his ears are. It’s not fair how adorable that is.

The door to the hallway closes, and Keith goes to the back of the room where the cots are set up and climbs onto one, relieved for the peace and quiet, and for the chance to digest the events of the past fifteen minutes or so.

He nearly got knocked out by a volleyball, made two potential new friends (two more than he’s ever had before), and possibly, _maybe_ met a guy he’s dangerously close to crushing on. It’s a lot to take in.

Quiet thoughts drift in from the other room, where the nurse is sitting on her phone.

_gotta tell Coran about this—seems like a nice kid—if the Shirogane boy likes him—_

Keith tries to stop listening. He lets all of the day’s interactions play in his mind, instead. He met a lot of people today. Most of them were nice. People still look at him too much, and think about him too much, but that’ll fade when they get bored of him. At least nobody has been openly hostile yet… he thinks. The jury is still out on the guy who spiked a ball at his head, but to be fair, Keith didn’t actually see who did it.

By far the most baffling thing about this day is Shiro. Keith has never met anyone like him. And whether or not it’s because he somehow finds Keith interesting, it’s the most pleasant introduction to another person Keith has ever had, even with the mild head trauma.

He must drift off at some point, because when he wakes up to the sound of the school bell, the nurse asks him if he’s feeling better and tells him he’ll need to go back to class, since he’s already missed a whole period. She writes him a note to bring to the teacher whose class he missed, and another note to bring to the teacher of his next class for being late. Missing a class on his second day probably isn’t going to look great for Keith, but there’s nothing to be done about it now.

Thankfully, the nap did wonders for his head, and he feels clear for the first time since moving to this place.

Keith checks his phone for the time as he heads out to his next class and is immediately grateful that he’s late, since it means he’s missed the crowds of people occupying the halls between classes. He catches snippets of thoughts as he moves past rooms full of students, but they’re all about the material, or being bored, or random other thoughts that don’t pertain to Keith in any way.

Until he passes one room, and one person’s thoughts drift out loudly and clearly.

— _GONNA TALK TO HIM ABOUT? OH MAN I CAN’T WAIT—SO NERVOUS—HOPE MATT DOESN’T MAKE ME LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT—_

Keith pauses as he realizes whose voice he’s hearing. He takes a step back and peers into the window of the class he just passed. He catches Shiro’s eye and almost shrinks away from the window, but the way Shiro perks up makes him freeze. Shiro breaks into a smile, and then immediately tries to hide it and averts his eyes, presumably so that the teacher won’t see. Keith starts to move away, and when Shiro glances back at him, Keith offers a small wave and a smile, and continues on his way.

— _SO CUTE, WOW—_

Keith’s ears burn, but it’s a very pleasant sensation.

Cute, huh? No, he thinks that description applies much better to Shiro.

____________________

“Better day today?” Keith’s dad asks as Keith walks in the front door, dropping his backpack by the kitchen table and walking to the fridge to get an afterschool snack. He hadn’t realized he was smiling, but his dad’s question makes his face hot at being caught.

“Yeah,” he answers. He picks a bunch of grapes out of the fridge and sits down to enjoy them and talk with his dad, who’s working on a crossword puzzle today.

“Make any friends?”

Keith pops a grape into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “I think so.”

He hears the click of the pencil being set on the table and looks up from his grapes to his father’s face.

“Really?”

“Maybe,” Keith says, brows furrowing. “They seem nice.”

“ _They_? More than one?”

“Dad!”

His dad lets out a loud bark of laughter. “Sorry, son. You just never seemed to have a lot of interest in kids your own age.”

Keith sighs. “Most people aren’t nice. Matt and Shiro seem nice.”

“Well, that’s real nice, Keith. You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear you gettin’ along well at your new school.”

Keith hums and goes back to his grapes.

“So. Matt and Shiro, hm? What do you know about these folks?”

“Not much,” Keith says with a shrug. “Matt’s dad teaches at the school. Don’t know what subject. I had lunch with both of them today. They seem pretty close. And Shiro walked me to the nurse today and was really nice the whole time. He carried my bag for me, too.”

At that, Keith’s dad raises an eyebrow and leans forward to rest his elbows on the table.

“That so?”

“Mmhm.”

“That’s awful nice. You say thank you?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Yes, dad. I have manners.”

“Damn right. I taught ‘em to ya.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes, until Keith’s father breaks the peace by asking, “So, Shiro, hm?”

Keith nods. “Yep.”

“Hm.”

____________________

The inner chatter calms down after about two weeks. Keith has gotten to know most of his classmates, and although the hallways are still noisy during class changes, it’s at least a lot easier to tune out the noise in the classroom.

After the first few times he was invited to sit with Shiro and Matt at lunch, Shiro caught onto the fact that large crowds make Keith’s headaches worse. They sit outside in the courtyard now, which helps a lot not only to prevent headaches, but also to give them a little privacy to get to know each other.

Matt is out sick today, so it’s just the two of them for the first time since the day they met.

Keith would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. He’s never been great at the whole… _people_ thing, and especially not now, since he’s been trying to deal with the sudden onslaught of all these feelings.

It’s been a weird whirlwind, getting to know Shiro. It was obvious from day one that he’s kind, considerate, and well-mannered, but Keith has since learned that not only is he unfailingly _good_ , he’s also the school’s golden boy, mega popular, and unbearably cute. So it’s a complete shock to Keith every single day that someone like Shiro would want to hang out with someone like Keith.

Even more of a shock is that Shiro’s thoughts still, more often than not, tend to drift towards his apparent physical attraction to Keith. And that’s something Keith just does not understand _at all_. He tries not to peer into Shiro’s thoughts when he can help it; he’s gotten a lot better at picking out Shiro’s voice and quelling it, not wanting to intrude on his thoughts — it’s an invasion of privacy, whether Keith can help it or not, and Shiro of all people doesn’t deserve to have his privacy invaded — but Keith isn’t perfect, and as much as he tries, it’s a lot harder to block out Shiro’s thoughts when he’s tired. And today, he’s _really_ tired.

“Everything okay?” Shiro asks shortly after they’ve sat down with their food. “You seem low.”

“Not low,” Keith corrects, “just tired. I had a huge test today with a bunch of material that I wasn’t here for, so I spent pretty much the whole night studying.”

Shiro’s big grey eyes turn concerned, like flipping a switch, and he sets down his fork. “Did you get any sleep?”

With an ill-timed yawn, Keith answers, “Some. Just not enough.”

A sensation of relief washes over him, and he’s not sure where it came from, but it calms him.

“Well, at least it’s Friday. You can catch up on some sleep.”

 _Ask him. Come on, Shiro, just do it—but what if he says no?—suck it up. You’ll never know unless you try_ —

Keith tries not to be affected by the thoughts (which he shouldn’t have been able to hear in the first place, but this is his burden), but it makes butterflies erupt in his stomach— whether it’s from excitement or nerves, he’s not sure yet.

“But maybe tomorrow, you know, after you’re rested up…” _—oh god that sounded so lame_ — “There’s this new movie coming out this weekend— I don’t know if you like sci-fi, but it’s based on this cool book series and should be really good. I know you don’t like crowds, but I figured if they’re all being relatively quiet, maybe?”

Shiro’s ears have turned an alarming shade of red, and he looks so nervous and hopeful, and Keith can’t help but smile, because it’s such a sweet and considerate thought, even though there’s no way Shiro could possibly know that’s not how it works for Keith. It’ll be plenty loud for Keith anyway.

But… it’s Shiro… and it kind of sounds like he’s asking Keith out right now.

Maybe he can just take some Tylenol preemptively, or bring it with him just in case…

“Okay,” he hears himself say. “I like sci-fi.”

Shiro’s face lights up, and no matter what happens, Keith knows it’ll be worth it just to have made him so happy.

“Great!” The feelings of warmth and happiness fill him up again, just like the first day they met. “Should I, um, pick you up? It’s okay if not, I just thought, I dunno, maybe after the movie we could get ice cream or something?”

Keith is nodding before Shiro is even finished speaking. “Sure.” He offers a small smile. He’s nervous as hell; this is his first date, probably, but they get along so well, and Shiro is actually really funny when he’s not being all awkward and nervous (though Keith likes that just as much, if he’s being honest).

“Cool! Maybe I should get your number, then?”

“Oh, yeah,” Keith says. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens the Add New Contact function. “Put your number in. I’ll send you my address.”

Aside from his parents and a couple of past schoolmates — lab partners, group work, people with whom he was otherwise forced to communicate — Shiro is the first number in his phone. It’s a purely social entry. He has a friend’s number — a _guy’s_ number — because Shiro wants to talk to him and spend time with him. Keith’s smile grows a couple of sizes as he takes his phone back and sees the little rocket ship emoji Shiro has put by his name.

“You’re such a nerd,” Keith says fondly. Shiro looks a little embarrassed at the comment, so Keith quickly adds, “I like it.” It makes his face grow warm to be so brazenly honest, but it’s also actually really nice.

Shiro has been blushing throughout the entire conversation, and that’s nice, too.

He types his address into the message box and sends it to Shiro, and then it’s official: He has a date with the sweetest guy he’s ever met. Tomorrow.

They spend the rest of lunch mostly talking about movies and books and soundtracks, and it feels really dorky, but it’s one of the best conversations Keith has ever had. He silently thanks Matt for being sick today, then feels bad about it and hopes he was just faking it, and then silently thanks him for faking sick today.

____________________

“A date?”

Keith winces at his mom’s tone. It’s not that she’s being judgmental or anything, it’s just… Okay, yeah, it’s gotta be pretty surprising hearing Keith say the words “I have a date,” but it was painful enough to admit it to his parents without them _questioning_ him about it.

“With who?”

Across the room, Keith’s dad takes a sip of his coffee, never looking away from his book, and says, “Shiro, I reckon.”

That piques his mother’s interest even further, and she turns to her husband. “Who’s Shiro?”

“That’s Keith’s new friend,” he says mildly. “Keith says he’s real nice.” He looks over the top of his book at his wife to make meaningful eye contact after revealing what is apparently a juicy piece of gossip.

“Is that so?” A sharp smile spreads across his mom’s face as she goes back to questioning her son.

Keith feels his pulse speed up. “I guess so.”

“I thought you said nobody’s nice, and people suck.”

He cringes again, this time at his own teenage angst. “Well. I guess not _all_ people.”

The look on Krolia’s face is victorious. She doesn’t call him out any more than she already has. Instead she asks, “Do you need us to take you?”

Keith shakes his head. “He’s picking me up.” He glances at the clock on the wall and gets up to dash upstairs when he sees the time. “In like, twenty minutes! Shit!”

“Language!” his dad calls after him, but Keith knows he’s not actually in trouble, it’s just his dad doing his fatherly duty, trying to make sure Keith doesn’t turn out to be some kind of delinquent.

It takes nineteen minutes to settle on something to wear. There’s not much to choose from, but it’s just a movie and ice cream; it’s not like he has to look fancy, just presentable.

The stupid cowlick on the back of his head won’t stay down no matter what he does, and when he hears the doorbell ring (what kind of eighteen-year-old boy rings the doorbell in this day and age?!) he gives up and goes downstairs, heart beating in his throat.

It seems like he’s already missed the parental introductions — they must have been standing by the door, waiting to greet Shiro, _how embarrassing_ — and Shiro is still standing and seems to be minimally traumatized, so Keith guesses he passed muster.

“Have fun!” Krolia calls from the door as Keith follows Shiro to his car. “Text if you’re going to be late.”

Shiro, ever the gentleman, assures her that he’ll have Keith home before midnight.

On the way to the theater, it’s a little awkward, since Keith has no idea what pre-date chit-chat is supposed to sound like.

About halfway there, Shiro sighs and says, “Sorry, I’m a little nervous.”

The admission warms Keith and settles his own nerves a little. It helps to know that he’s not the only one feeling a little weird.

“It’s okay,” he assures Shiro. “I am, too.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow but keeps his eyes on the road, like a good boy. “Really? You seem so…”

“Emotionless?”

“I was going to say untouchable,” Shiro says. “I don’t think you’re emotionless.” He swallows, then with what seems like a lot of courage, adds, “I think you’re really sweet.”

Keith smiles down at his lap. “Oh. Well, thanks.” The word “sweet” plays on repeat in Keith’s head for the rest of the ride. Literally no one ever has called him sweet. It’s confusing, but in a good way.

When they pull up to the theater, Keith walks toward the ticket booth, but Shiro sheepishly pulls two tickets from his pocket and guides them toward the doors instead.

“You already bought the tickets?”

“I didn’t think waiting in line would be a super fun date activity,” Shiro explains. “Is that okay?”

“Of course.” Shiro’s consideration makes Keith melt, or maybe that’s just Shiro’s general presence. “But at least let me pay you for mine—”

“No way,” Shiro says, shaking his head. “I asked you. It’s my treat.”

Keith doesn’t argue, but when it comes to buying the snacks, he insists on paying for their popcorn and drinks— he even splurges for the big tub. He follows Shiro to the theater playing their movie and thanks his lucky stars that this is one of those theaters that lets you choose where you want to sit ahead of time. Shiro picked a pair of seats near the top, where nobody ever wants to sit, which is nice because at least it means they’re far enough away from half of the crowd that Keith doesn’t have to hear the ones closer to the front.

“I hope this is okay.”

“It’s great,” Keith assures him. “Perfect.” Shiro smiles at the praise, and soon after they sit, the previews start playing.

A few of them visibly excite Shiro, and they whisper to each other about which ones look stupid and which ones they don’t even need to see, since the previews give away the entire plot, including the ending. They quiet down when the movie starts, and Keith is pleasantly surprised to note that most of the people in the crowd are actually paying attention to the movie, and not thinking about a bunch of other stuff and making it impossible for Keith to follow along.

It’s fun, actually. Apparently, this series has a pretty loyal following, so whenever something cool or emotional or exciting happens, Keith gets to hear sixty people react the same way. In a way, it’s like a heightened experience for Keith.

Keith is paying rapt attention, mindlessly chewing on popcorn, and as he reaches down for another handful, he feels Shiro’s hand reach in at the same time. They bump fingers and both swing their faces around to look at each other. Shiro’s eyes are wide — Keith’s probably are, too — but he doesn’t immediately withdraw his hand. One finger brushes tentatively against Keith’s pinky. Keith’s stomach erupts with butterflies. He nudges back with his own finger and watches as the apprehension melts away from Shiro.

Slowly, Shiro pulls his hand away and rests in on his armrest instead. Keith does the same, close enough that their pinkies are touching.

For the next five minutes, Keith has no idea what happens in the movie. He’s more interested in the waves of giddiness he feels every time Shiro’s pinky moves against his own. After a few pinky exchanges, Shiro gets brave and wraps his little finger around Keith’s, locking them together. It’s Keith turn next, and he takes the leap from finger-touching to actual hand-holding, flipping his hand upside down and scooting it under Shiro’s, and he’s just about to have a heart attack until Shiro laces his fingers between Keith’s and holds on tight.

From there on out, it’s all a blur. He hopes Shiro doesn’t want to talk too in-depth about the movie after, because then Keith will have to admit how utterly distracting it is to feel Shiro’s thumb sweep across the back of his hand.

They sit like that until the credits have finished rolling. They’re the last ones out of the theater, talking and joking together with their hands clasped between them. Keith is absolutely loathe to let go, and it feels like Shiro feels the same way.

It’s not until they get back to Shiro’s car that Keith regretfully lets go of Shiro’s hand to climb into the front seat.

“So, still up for that ice cream?” Shiro asks.

Keith smiles. His heart still feels like it’s beating out of rhythm, and his stomach is so twisted up in nervous, giddy knots that he’s not sure how much he’ll be able to eat, but he’ll be damned if he gives up the chance to spend more time with Shiro. “Absolutely.”

Shiro takes them to a local place. It’s one of those places that makes a bunch of crazy flavors that sound terrible but supposedly taste really good. Shiro gets a waffle cone with strawberry and balsamic vinegar ice cream. He claims it’s awesome, but Keith has major doubts; he opts for chocolate, himself.

The ice cream place is in a nice shopping center, so they can walk around while they eat. Shiro is the brave one this time, taking Keith’s hand and dragging him around to the stores that are still open.

The ice cream is good, the weather is nice, the stars are bright, and the company is perfect.

It’s the best night Keith has ever had.

There’s a bench in the middle of the shopping center, right in front of the big central fountain. At night, the fountain is lit up with changing lights. This time of night, with the shoppers at home and most of the stores closed, it’s actually really calm and beautiful. The boys take a seat on the bench, just enjoying the night.

“You know,” Shiro says, breaking the brief silence, “I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut.” He’s looking up at the stars with wonder and awe written on his face.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you wonder what’s up there? So many stars, so many planets… Do you ever wonder if there’s more than this?”

Keith thinks about it. Honestly, he’s never given a lot of thought to the great unknown. For most of his life, his main desire has been to find a place to put down roots, instead of moving around every few months.

But thinking of it now, it’s a nice thought— that maybe there are people out there somewhere who are just like him. Or even better, a place where everything is quiet, and the only thoughts he hears are his own.

“It seems so peaceful,” he says instead of all of that.

“I think it seems like an adventure,” Shiro muses. “Exciting. Going somewhere no one has ever been before, you know?”

“Yeah.”

Keith looks up at the stars, too. There’s so much _space_ , as far as the eye can see and so far beyond.

When he looks at Shiro again, Shiro is already looking back at him.

Suddenly, his thoughts are _so loud_ — GO FOR IT—DO IT SHIRO COME ON—MAKE A MOVE—JUST GET CLOSER—

“Hey, Shiro?” Keith asks, heart thundering in his chest as he works up the courage to do what he wants to do, even though it feels like Shiro is definitely going to say yes.

Shiro swallows. “Yeah?”

Keith scoots a little closer on the bench so that their thighs are pressed together. He brings their joined hands to his lap and fiddles with Shiro’s fingers while he hypes himself up.

_SO CLOSE—HE SMELLS AMAZING—GOD HE’S GORGEOUS—_

“Can— Can I kiss you?”

Shiro’s eyes blow wide. He freezes for just a second, and then he’s moving in, and the next second Keith is having the most mind-blowing first kiss of his life.

Joy, excitement, and affection burst within him, stronger than anything he’s ever felt before. Kissing Shiro feels like home. He can’t hear anything now, just feels all of the pleasant emotions associated with a really fucking good kiss, and it all heightens as Shiro brings a hand up to cup his cheek and stroke his thumb against Keith’s cheekbone. Then the kiss deepens, and it feels like their hearts are beating in sync.

Keith has all but forgotten their surroundings, focused only on the feeling of Shiro’s lips against his, Shiro’s tongue grazing his lip or slipping against his own tongue, Shiro’s fingers in his hair. He’s just thinking about how incredible it is to have feelings like this for someone, how he’s known Shiro for such a short amount of time, but it feels like he’s known him forever—

“Me too,” Shiro says as he pulls away. He stays close, gazing into Keith’s eyes with adoration he shouldn’t even feel yet, but feels completely right to Keith.

Then Keith registers what Shiro said.

“What?”

“Feels like I’ve known you forever,” Shiro says. “I like you so much, Keith.”

Keith’s brain screeches to a halt.

There’s no way he could have said that out loud. They’d been in the middle of kissing, and he _knows_ he wouldn’t have stopped kissing Shiro for something like _talking_ , of all things.

Shiro must realize the same thing, albeit a little slower, but when it dawns on him, his expression becomes puzzled.

“Did I… make that up?”

Keith shakes his head. “No. I just… didn’t say it out loud.”

They stay like that for what feels like a long time, just looking at each other. And then Keith thinks, _You have the most beautiful eyes_.

Shiro’s blush grows quickly, and that’s how Keith knows he’s heard that, too.

_You can hear me?_

Shiro nods. Then: _Can you?_

Keith nods back, too. That’s not new, but they’ll have time to cross that bridge when they get to it.

“You okay?” Keith asks. He’ll admit he’s a little worried; having someone inside _his_ head for a change is unsettling, to say the least. But, inexplicably, Keith trusts Shiro.

“Yeah,” Shiro answers, a bit uncertainly. “It’s weird, but… nice? I guess?”

Keith smiles and leans in for another quick kiss. “I think we probably have some stuff to talk about,” he says. “But if you feel like this is okay, I’m hoping maybe you’ll be okay with the rest of what I have to tell you, too.”

Shiro looks perplexed and curious, but not afraid. “Okay.”

“Not now, though. Now, I think I’d really like to enjoy the rest of our date.”

“We still have about two and a half hours before I have to get you home,” Shiro says with a glance at his watch. “Maybe we could find somewhere more private? Get to know each other better?”

Keith grins. “Yeah. That sounds really nice.”

There’s a beautiful grassy hilltop not too far out of town, so that’s where they go. As they settle into place beside each other, Keith hears Shiro’s nervous thoughts— _What if I mess this up?_

Keith reaches for Shiro’s hand, brings it to his lips, and waits for Shiro to look at him, which doesn’t take long. And he thinks, as hard as he can: _You won’t_. And he knows with his whole heart that it’s true.


End file.
